My Manner of Life

Sunday, September 06, 2015

From as early as I can remember, I had cat companions. My father insisted that they be
indoor/outdoor cats, so what I remember from my childhood is a long line of
cats I loved who died. Who died young and too soon. And I remember my father who always seemed
angry about them. Only in my adulthood
did I realize that he wasn’t actually angry at the cats. I think he was
exhibiting anger in response to my deep grief when each of those cats died, and
he was powerless to assuage my childhood grief. I guess that’s how dads responded
in the 1960s.

Death and I were enemies. I hated death for taking so many
of my beloved feline companions away from me.

Things got worse in my early 20s when a dear friend was
butchered to death by murderers. It sent me into chaos. It truly changed the trajectory
of my life.

Then the Episcopal Church found me, thanks be to God. I
found comfort in the liturgy. With my fury about death, I especially found
comfort in the Burial Rite. I became the crucifer who most often served at our
parish funerals. When a beloved friend’s wife died in the late 1990s, he asked
me to be crucifer at the funeral, and I agreed. We talked about it. He asked me why the role of crucifer matters so
much to me, especially at funerals.
I explained: “I hate death. When I serve as crucifer at funerals, I
carry that processional cross as high as I can. For in doing that, I’m telling Death:
You don’t win! ”

By now, I would think I would be better prepared to deal
with death. But it seems I am not.

A dear friend’s wife has died, much too soon, in the past
several days. I will again serve as
crucifer, for all the same reasons. (“O grave, where is thy victory?) But. But. But. I can’t quit crying for my
friend who has lost his wife and companion. I can’t quit crying for my friend
who is going to bed alone for the first time in more than 30 years. I can’t quit crying as I realize how futile are
any words I can possibly offer.

I take comfort in our liturgy and I believe the words of the
Prayer Book. But my creature self is
unevolved. A part of me still has thick
red fur and no words and just wants to cuddle with another creature.

What words can I possibly offer my friend? All I can imagine is a gesture of wild
creatures, who lean up against each other without a sound. I wish I could do
only that, for I have not one word of wisdom or adequate solace to share with
my friend. I wish I could just lean into
him like foxes. Silent. Fierce. Compassionate. Wild. Howling. And howling.

About Me

I'm a progressive Episcopalian raised in the South and now (thanks to a job change) living in the conservative Midwest. I worship at Grace Episcopal Church in Jefferson City. I love the Episcopal Church, which rescued me from a life of wandering meaningless and gave me a way to explore my faith and belief in God.
On any given topic, I am prone to yammer-on way too long. Sometimes I ponder way more than I should.
A blog-friend said that I demonstrate a "muscled love for our Church." I hope I can live up to that.
And right now I'm pondering Blogger's challenge to define myself in 1200 characters.